


kaleidoscope

by AgentCheshire



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Dystopian, Angst, Death, Dystopian, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, rebellion type, rly sad like rly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 03:18:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentCheshire/pseuds/AgentCheshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colors are not meant to be associated with emotion but that was all I could feel - a deep crimson pulsing through my eyes when I watched them search for something that they would never find.</p><p>(In which Armin tells the story of living in a society that depends on drugs to feel)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Black

**Author's Note:**

> I've only got a vague feeling on where this'll end up. Bear with me, I've got to finish up a few projects before devoting my time to this.
> 
> I'm sorry if characters appear too out of character? It is an AU after all, so please be patient and... enjoy. Or something.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated.

I was eight years old, so I guess that was my excuse for being stupid. Being young.

Walking home alone an hour after sunset had its consequences. Mother was dead for a long time, nearly three years at that point. While I didn't remember her face, I certainly remembered some of her warnings.  _Don't go outside after sunset_ was one of them.

But I didn't know why. Danger was just a vague word, something only faintly ominous that I had read about in stories involving a knife or a gun. When you are a child, you don't realize what it is. My wake up call came in the form of a stranger who was waiting for any unsuspecting victim. This time, it was me making as much noise as a child possibly could. I remember my fingertips grazing along the graying brick walls, feeling the rough, unyielding surface contrast with the softness of my skin. Remembered the way my boots, several years too small, scraped and scuffed along the dirt path, leaving marks across the ground. My other hand clutched a book - a stupid little paperback that was hardly ten pence and lacked a cover - as if I would never let go.

But I did a moment later when somebody touched my shoulder. I was - and still am - skittish, so predictably the book slipped from my grasp and fell unannounced onto the ground. It was quickly forgotten.

When I turned around, I could not see his face which bothered me. His head was shrouded in shadow. His touch slid into a grasp and he refused to let go. "Boy like you shouldn't be here."

"I'm heading home."

"Smart move." But the way he said it, I realize now, was faintly derisive. As if he didn't think it was a smart move at all. I looked down to his feet, saw the way his front two toes poked out of his worn out patched up boots. I noted that he had not clipped his toenails in some time and dirt clung to the insides, making them look a sickening, gray. His hand, almost as rough as the brick wall grasped my chin, forcing my head up. "Anybody tell you that you got the bluest eyes?"

I tried to shake my head that no, no I didn't, but his grasp on my chin was too strong. I thought about my friend, Eren, whose eyes were far more vivid than my own washed up ones. He was the last lucid thing I thought about. The last thing I would think about for a very long time.

I saw the stranger's eyes - black and unfeeling - rake over me, giving me a once, twice, no three overs. That was when I felt a small tendril of something creeping up the vertebrae of my spine, tightening its hold the more I drank in the details of what he was about to do. I felt his hand slide down to my pants. I say felt, because at that point, I had closed my eyes. The tendril was evolving into something that was beginning to spread, freezing my muscles. I froze at the wrong time. I didn't want him to see it, but I knew he felt it, the way his other hand, which had plunged into my shirt, stilled where my heart was, feeling the way it pounded a tattoo against my ribcage, a tiny bird that was relentless in its quest for freedom. 

I heard his breath catch. I wasn't sure why, but he was excited. My theory was further solidified when I felt his fingers grow clumsy against my pants and his. Somewhere along the way, he had backed me up against the wall, drawing me up slightly, and I could feel him hardening against me. Even if my eyes were closed, my mouth was stretched open to form a soundless scream. I didn't know what he would do next but the way I grew numb served as an alert that it wasn't good, especially when I heard his pants drop to the floor.

"Open your eyes, boy." In the hazy confines of my mind, I registered and obeyed. His wish was my command. I didn't think to rebel. I had surrendered to the feeling that had taken over my body and he knew it the minute I opened my eyes. "Look at me." His dick was naked and between my legs, grinding slightly against the heat of the space between my legs. As if there was no more time left, he grabbed a fistful of my shirt, bringing me up so that my legs dangled, and my eyes were nearly eye level to him. His face was obscured by the grizzled beard, but I would never forget the coldness of his eyes, as if he were not really alive, as if he wasn't really there. His breath was harsh and hot against my face, putrid and rotting. I hardly registered the smell. "Keep your eyes on me. Don't you dare shut 'em."

I understood as he plunged himself into me, ripping me wide open and tearing into my very being, why he did it. Why he asked me to look him in the eye. If my heart stuck in my throat was any indication, blocking any means to scream, then I understood the meaning of why he raped me. He was merciless and I forgot how to scream because of it. The fact that I did not make any noise, seemed to make him more desperate, more rough as he pounded into me recklessly. The pain, white, hot and nearly blinding left me on the floor shaking long after he left. I'd feel it in my legs for days on end afterward.

After he came, he zipped his pants up and left, without another word. I no longer existed to him, spent and broken. I wiped my mouth once, my knees against the dirt. I could smell the salt of tears and sweat against my cheeks. I could also smell piss, nakedly strong. I later learned it was mine. I had peed without realizing it and I hadn't known when it happened, just that it did.

When I turned around to face the brick wall, I saw smears of dark red, forming an almost rudimentary, tightly constructed heart. When I put my nose to the wall, I realized it was blood and it was probably mine.

I felt it pound into my head as I vomited repeatedly on the ground, heard the piercing, keening wail inside my head as I spewed out everything, everything and nothing. I refused to scream it seemed, so I had to vomit instead. It wasn't a fair trade. The vomit burned all the way up and smelled almost as bad as the man's breath.

It was the first time I'd felt fear and I was lucky to feel it, as Mikasa would explain to me later, her mouth obscured by that stupid red scarf of her's. Nobody really felt true fear. I was lucky I had been sought out and then raped for being able to fuck up by freezing.

After I had finished vomiting, I stared at the heart on the wall. I felt a giant chasm open up within me, its jaws growing bigger and wider as the terrible feeling of emptiness washed over me, bathing me into its darkness. I felt the blackness swallow me up and lick its lips afterward.

If I turned my head sideways, the heart became a mouth that hungered for the rest of the vast emptiness of the wall.

It hungered for the black.

 


	2. Brown: Ten years later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikasa's worried about Eren so it's up to Armin to save the day. He meets a stranger along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, I'll be writing in third person kiddos. Still mostly revolves around Armin though... for now. We'll see what the future holds. *pans out dramatically*

On most winter days, Armin slept in on the weekends. He was pretty good about waking up at six o'clock on the weekdays; he wasn't especially fond of clocking into work late. He couldn't afford the Titans docking his pay or running the risk of being fired for too many infractions. But weekdays and holidays, he found it particularly hard to flip the covers off his face and watch his breath take shape in the air. 

Their tiny flat - Eren's, Mikasa's and Armin's - was not properly insulated. It had been a very long time since any of them had sought any professional help to fix anything that needed mending around the house. Mikasa sometimes would fix a hole in the roof, stop a leak or unclog a toilet but that was all. None of them could really afford anything else.

So Armin found most of his winter and fall nights huddled under mounds of blankets. This often amused Eren who usually was the first to wake Armin on the weekends. "You're such a kid!" He would complain, snatching the blankets off and throwing them against the floor, prompting Armin to tighten his body against himself even further so that minimal body heat left. The cold would attack Armin worse than Eren who would clamber on the bed and begin to shake Armin awake. He in turn would eventually open his eyes and look towards his best friend, his vivid green eyes looking insistent. Eren had expressive eyes; they weren't anything like Mikasa's who preferred nobody read how she really felt. And God forbid Eren's eyes looked anything like Armin's - watery, shallow and translucent.

They were eyes that he rose to every morning and they represented something that he seldom found in Shiganshina. 

So when Armin felt his blankets snatched off him, he was fully prepared for the creaky springs of his mattress to play the tune of Eren's weight bouncing up and down.

But it didn't happen. He opened his eyes to find Mikasa staring down at him with those nearly black eyes. Brown eyes tended to look a lot warmer than blues, greens, hazels and grays, Armin found. But Mikasa's eyes were the anomoly - Dark and almost cold, they betrayed nothing. She looked much like the rest of Shiganshina's citizens who walked around like live corpses. Except she never slumped when she walked, never looked like she was folding into herself like a person who just wanted to disappear; she was graceful, carrying herself like a stoic warrior, her movements as fluid as water.

And though Armin appreciated her, he also hated the sight of her; flawless, unapologetic. Everything he was  _not_.

"What?" he protested, folding his arms protectively over himself as he stared up at Mikasa.

"Eren didn't come home yesterday until  _two_ hours after curfew."

Armin tried to stifle a yawn, failed, and then reluctantly sat up, drawing his knees to his chest. The cold bit into his skin, but he tried not to think about it too much. "So?"

"So? What if he'd been caught?" Mikasa asked, dipping her chin into her red scarf. For as long as Armin knew, Mikasa never parted with it, unless she had to shower. It had been a present from Eren, as far as Armin could tell, but he hadn't  _really_ known the adoptive siblings until after he'd moved in with them. When he still had his parents and his grandfather, Eren had been his playmate and then, eventually Mikasa when her parents had been murdered. But after Armin's family had been imprisoned and then executed, he'd moved in with Eren and Mikasa. There was a huge difference between childhood playmate and housemate, he'd discovered. Privately, he called them his family. Eren was his cool, older brother, and Mikasa, the responsible yet bossy, eldest sister. It was a game he played a lot in his mind.

He never voiced this fantasy aloud. 

"But he didn't," Armin said, reaching a hand for the back of his neck and feeling for any loose, dead skin on his scalp that needed to be scratched off. "Maybe he got himself a girlfriend."

Mikasa snorted. "Eren wouldn't get a girlfriend." But she didn't sound so sure. She dipped her face lower into her scarf so that most of her mouth was obscured by the red. "And just because he didn't get caught this time doesn't mean he won't next time."

Armin rubbed his eyes wearily. It was just like Mikasa to worry about Eren. "What makes you so sure, there'll be a next time?"

Mikasa stepped away from Armin. "Why aren't you taking this seriously? You know what's likely to happen if you stay after dark."

"Eren can take care of himself." Even as he said it, Armin wrapped his arms around his knees and felt a lump in his throat that was too painful to swallow. He had never told Mikasa about that one day he'd decided to come home later than usual. He of course, had told Eren. He clasped his fingers together tightly when he realized his fingers were shaking and couldn't tell if it was from the cold or from the way his mind had begun to drift off.

 _Great memories_ , he thought to himself wryly. He unfolded himself and forced a tight-lipped smile at Mikasa. "I'll keep an eye on him."

"Talk to him if you catch him doing it again. He won't listen if I do." He heard the slight woundedness in her voice.

Armin nodded, perhaps to see if Mikasa's face would soften, but it didn't. Lightly, he put his feet on the rickety, wooden floor, trying not to flinch at the sudden cold.

He locked himself in the bathroom and didn't come out for nearly an hour.

* * *

Eren was gone by the time Armin had eaten his breakfast. "He said he was going to the river," Mikasa said. "I'd go myself, but I've got to report to the Titans today."

"Today?" Armin repeated. "Didn't you go last month?" It was unusual for somebody to go on a random check so soon. Armin himself hadn't been called in three months.

Mikasa shrugged. "Rumors circulating that the Rainbow Market's growing. They're really cracking down."

Armin swallowed. He'd been approached by a few sellers but had always turned them down. It was fear that drove him. He'd been forced to watch his parents' public executions. His grandfather was caught buying two injections a week later. For himself, Armin stayed far away from the Rainbow Market. Admittedly, sometimes he found it hard. He wondered what pure, unadulterated happiness felt like. It had been awhile since he'd  _not_ felt worried.

He swallowed the last of his scrambled egg, and prepared himself to go to the river. If anything, he was slightly curious as to why Eren had said he was going there. The river was not a place most people frequented. Its waters were muddy and its banks sparsely held any sort of green. Furthermore it was unusual that Eren hadn't asked Armin to come along the way he usually did. Armin pulled up the collar of his coat to protect his neck better from the sudden burst of wind. He'd been hoping to save up to buy a new scarf, but he still had a long way to go to reach his goal and suspected he would not be able to get one until winter was almost over.

He looked up at the sky, protected by a gray haze of gloom. His mother had told him that once the sky had been blue. "The sky is actually God's eye, Armie. He's constantly watching us"

"God's eye is blue?" He had asked. "Like ours?"

She had pinched his nose and hugged him against her. He could smell the warmth and the worn out cotton of her shirt. "Like yours."

"Does that make me God?"

She'd held him up, looking into his eyes. Her's were a serene blue at the time, perfectly calm but serious. "Armin, God is always amongst us." _  
_

Either God couldn't see the world anymore, Armin thought to himself, or the gray had just blinded him. Either way, Armin didn't think he believed in God anymore. There was no way he'd believe in any God that was cruel enough to murder his own family and leave him to-

"Watch it!" Jumping back to reality, Armin rubbed his nose, fully aware that hands had gripped his shoulders to steady him. "A-are you okay?" The question was a lot less steady than the earlier warning.

Armin opened his eyes to see a man who was nearly half a foot taller than him. He had expressive eyebrows, a delicate cheekbone structure and a mouth that looked entirely too cocky at first glance. His eyes were light brown and stubborn. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Wasn't thinking."

"Wait a sec." One of the man's hands slid up from his shoulder to his neck, to his chin. Armin resisted the urge to shiver at his cold yet gentle touch. He felt his chin being pushed up, forcing his eyes to drift to the man's eyes again. He felt heat spread up his neck and hoped it didn't show or that this man couldn't feel how hot Armin felt himself.  _Don't appear weak_. With the exception of Eren and Mikasa, he wasn't comfortable with the idea of being touched. 

The man's eyebrow's furrowed. "Are you... blushing?"

 _Shit!_ Armin forcefully took a step backward, nearly slipping in the process. "It's cold. My body is working overtime to keep at its optimal temperature," he automatically said.

The man didn't look entirely convinced. "I'm not a Titan, you know. You can trust me. Are you using?"

 _What?_ "Why would I be using?" Armin asked. He had to keep his voice down, but he hoped his voice conveyed how angry he sounded at the accusation.

The man's eyebrow quirked up and he opened his mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it and clamped his mouth shut. "Sorry," he said. "Forgive my intrusive questions. I'm Jean Kirstein."

The name sounded familiar, but before Armin could place his name, Jean continued, "It's just really hard to find a person who doesn't depend on the serums to ah..."

"To feel?" Armin completed. He took a step away, feeling uncomfortable to be standing so close to Jean. 

"Guess you could say that," Jean said. He looked sheepish. "It's been awhile since I've run into somebody who..." he trailed off, and for a minute he looked utterly lost.

"Er... Jean?"

Jean's eyes fixed on Armin's again. He cleared his throat, before looking away. "Excuse me, you just reminded me of somebody. Better be careful. Show too much and you might just end up dead."

He turned to walk away, but before he was five feet away, Armin called out, "Wait, Jean!" He didn't know why he said it. Perhaps it was the way he'd looked so lost in his memories. Armin knew how that felt.

Jean didn't turn back to acknowledge his request. Armin saw him lift his arm to his face and thought for one moment that it looked like Jean was crying.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was pretty slow, sorry! We'll see Eren next chapter though. As the story progresses, I promise you'll see a lot more of this... world I'm trying to build. But I think you've got the basic gist of it at the moment.
> 
> Feedback as usual, is appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> A little dark? Confusing? Sorry, I might have to clear that up in a chapter that isn't a prologue. (Why do prologues always feel really pretentious and stupid?)
> 
> Like I said earlier, let's see where this'll end up. I've only got a vague idea, really.


End file.
